Page 45 of Preacher

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“How are those hinges holding up?”

“They’re doing great.” I smiled. “I appreciate you guys coming out and helping me.”

“Glad we could help.” He motioned me toward the door. “Prez is inside.”

“Okay.”

He opened the door, and I followed him inside. The hallway was dark and smelled of leather, smoke, and old bourbon. And something else. Something older. Like time had settled in the walls, and while it was somewhat rustic, it gave it a feeling of home.

The floors were dark hardwood, and the walls were covered in framed photos, patches, and old black-and-white pictures that gave a glimpse of the club’s history. I was trying to peek at each of them when the hall suddenly ended, and we were standing in a bar.

It looked like one you might find downtown with weathered wood, iron brackets, and a row of mismatched stools. The shelves behind it held bottles of every kind of liquor you could imagine. There were pool tables and dart boards, and the place was filled with men in leather vests and women in tight jeans and low-cut tops.

I felt him long before I saw him.

The heat of his stare sent a chill down my spine.

When I turned, I found him sitting in the back of the room, sitting at a table surrounded by two men I didn’t recognize and two women who looked like they were trying too hard to get his attention.

But he wasn’t paying them any mind.

His eyes were on me and me alone.

There was no smile. No spark in his eyes.

He just sat there, watching me like a king on his throne, as I forced myself to walk over to him. The two men next to him stopped talking the second they noticed me coming toward them. They glanced over at Hudson, and as soon as they saw the way he was looking at me, they both got up and took the girls with them.

There was a whole room full of people, but all I saw was him.

He looked so unbelievably handsome that it made my heart race.

He was wearing a black t-shirt and his black leather cut, and his salt and pepper hair was disheveled in perfect disarray. The years etched into his face, and they told a story I didn’t know. But I wanted to. I wanted to know everything about him. That alone should have had me turning around. Instead, I felt pulled to him, like a moth to a flame.

His eyes never left mine as I walked up to him and said, “Hey.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then replied, “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Was there something you needed?”

“Just wanted to tell you thanks again for coming to fix Faith’s stall. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“I was glad to do it, but something tells me that’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“No, I guess it’s not.” I folded my arms and cocked my brow, “But you didn’t have to call me on it.”

“Yeah, actually, I did,” he answered without hesitation. “If you have something to say, say it.”

My chest tightened. He wasn’t going to make it easy for me. I didn’t necessarily blame him. I’d been pretty cutthroat when I told him I couldn’t do this thing with him, and now, he wanted my truth. I just didn’t know how to give it. “It’s complicated.”

“I see.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, then motioned his head toward the chair next to him. Once I’d sat down, he leaned forward and placed his hand on my arm, giving it a light squeeze. My chest tightened, but not out of fear or disgust. I liked his hands on me. It felt like a promise, and I wanted to believe it even more than I cared to admit.

He studied me for a moment, then said, “You look like you could use a drink.”

---